


Mad as the sea and wind

by generalpallor (ThatBoyOliver)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Hux is a secret literature nerd who is angry with his performance, M/M, The First Order is a theatre in London and Kylo plays Hamlet, Theatre AU, angry yelling about literary characters, based on the 'play cancelled after actor breaks character to fight an audience member' headline, this is just crack basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6228814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatBoyOliver/pseuds/generalpallor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The play's poster is simple enough, white letters on black, reading: 'HAMLET. At the FIRST ORDER theatre. Première: 10.10.2010'. Below is a drawn image of a white figure holding a bloodied crown in its hands, pretentious and unoriginal and any other negative adjective Hux can think of. The director is simply put as 'THE KNIGHTS OF REN', and the list of actors reads: 'Dopheld Mitaka. Mat Thanisson. Bosman Unamo. KYLO REN.'</p><p>(chapter 2 isn't an actual chapter, just an illustration for the fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. This is pure crack (treated seriously? Maybe? I don't even know) and I blame my friend who didn't stop me from writing this. English isn't my first language. This fic takes place in England because it's not fair that Americans get to have all the fun with Modern AU. Also, team Hamratio anyone?

Unexpected support from the Empire company was the only thing that allowed First Order, a small theatre located in one of the small streets leading to Leicester Square, to produce their season's greatest première.

Hux did not want to go. He had more important things to do, including work, playing with his cat, more work, and organising his extensive green tea collection. However his odd allyship with Phasma brought on some duties, so when she presented him with two tickets to 'Hamlet' in some backwaterish kind of theatre that their company /had to/ support, he reluctantly agreed.

'I know you like Shakespeare, come on.'

'Everyone likes Shakespeare, Phasma. It's not some special achievement or characteristic.'

'Your father doesn't', she teased him. 'And it's some young guy playing the prince, apparently.'

'Great. So he will have no talent whatsoever,' he answered, but he was smiling.

And that is how they end up standing in front of a great sign reading 'FIRST ORDER', scarlet letters on black, more like a villain's headquarters from a cheesy flick than a theatre building.

Her, in a simple black dress, and him, in a black jacket draped over white shirt with some pretence to nonchalance, if nonchalance was not a concept foreign to Ciaran Hux.

They are close to losing each other in the swarm of people walking around the area on a Friday evening, and Hux swears he hates this city, swears he would move back to Dublin if it weren't where his parents lived.

The play's poster is simple enough, white letters on black, reading: 'HAMLET. At the FIRST ORDER theatre. Première: 10.10.2010'. Below is a drawn image of a white figure holding a bloodied crown in its hands, pretentious and unoriginal and any other negative adjective Hux can think of. The director is simply put as 'THE KNIGHTS OF REN', and the list of actors reads: 'Dopheld Mitaka. Mat Thanisson. Bosman Unamo. KYLO REN.'

'What kind of name is Kylo Ren?'

'A stage name, probably,' shrugs Phasma. 'He's actually quite good-looking, the guy. I've seen the pictures in reviews.'

'And you care about how good-looking guys are since...?'

'I care for your sake.'

'How were the reviews?'

Phasma muses. Wildly controversial. TimeOut London gave the play five stars and a recommendation as a top opening West End show, while The Times refused to give even one star, calling it a disgrace to Britain's greatest playwright. She decides to take an average of that, so- somewhere around three stars.

'Good enough,' she shrugs. 'We will see. We can always leave if it's shit and grab something to eat.'

Hux decides he'd like that very much, and his stomach agrees, having been first too busy, then too anxious to eat anything. His boss, Snoke, the country's most notorious millionaire, made him fill out thousands of forms for things Hux barely understood despite the fact that a lowly assistant could have very well done that. Hux hates being the only one Snoke trusts sometimes. He still holds hopes of someday being appointed the next CEO of the company, sometime after Snoke's death, which seems to be coming both yesterday and never.

They go through the corridors and take their seats in a full hall. It's not the average theatre audience. There are more young people, many of them looking like the most terrible hipster stereotypes, and Hux almost groans at the sight.

'How is work then? We barely have a chance to speak these days,' asks Phasma in a low whisper. Their seats are in the front row, close enough to look the actors in the eye, Hux muses uncomfortably.

'It's alright. Snoke makes me do stupid things, but I am content knowing he will get a heart attack or something soon.'

'Rough. Want me to help him get a heart attack?'

'Absolutely not. How is that girl you're dating?'

'Cute. Haven't seen her for a while, though. My other boss is actively trying to strip me off all social life ass well.'

'Hm?'

Hux barely cares to remember that on the weekends Phasma works at a tattoo parlour. The audience gets quiet, yet she continues, apparently oblivious to everything but her anger.

'The tattoo convention. We have to get ready for it, some new designs-'

Hux sighs deeply as the red curtain opens, revealing one dark figure, soon joined by another.

 

_BERNARDO_

_Who's there?_

 

_FRANCISCO_

  _Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself._

 

_BERNARDO_

  _Long live the king!_

 

Everything seems too black and he can barely make out the characters' outlines. As Horatio enters the lights focus on the actors face, and Hux decides that he is sitting much too close to the scene. The actor looks like but a boy in the oddest way, although he must be about Hux's age. He looks very nervous and sweat is already coming off his face in small drops. He definitely does look like a scholar, Hux muses half-viciously. After a while he decides he likes the actor after all, as he seems to get more comfortable in his role. They talk; Hux only half-listens, having the dialogue remembered by heart, trying to catch any mistakes and mispronunciations. He doesn't.

 

_BERNARDO_

_Last night of all,_ __  
_When yond same star that's westward from the pole_ __  
_Had made his course to illume that part of heaven_ __  
_Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,_ _  
_ _The bell then beating one,--_

 

The ghost is a flicker of light on the wall, not an actor, and Hux appreciates that. He appreciates the half-modern, half-historical clothes less, and the rough punkish music accompanying the ghosts words. The scene ends soon with and Hux is more bored than anything, the 'modern' feeling they were going for so obviously overdone, and starts to think about leaving to get some food with Phasma

 

_A little more than kin, and less than kind._

 

Hamlet.

His face is painted red, not with paint but something akin to overly thick make-up, like a mask. His face has a roughly triangular face, long, with big eyes and nose and lips not quite fitting is face. It's awkward in one way, adorable in another, and indeed in some way attractive. Maybe Phasma was right.

Hux shifts in his seat deciding to focus on the play more, instead of looking at the very odd girl with pink hair sitting next to him.

His movements are a bit too quick. Too desperate. He pours himself all over Ophelia – played by an actress somehow visibly not interested in what is happening – in a way that makes Hux embarrassed for the man. After Ophelia leaves the scene, he rips a piece of the mask off his face, revealing a pale complexion shining in the sharp light. Hux can see in his eyes that he's almost crying.

'That is pure bullshit,' mutters Hux, barely audibly, into Phasma's ear.

'Hm?'

'This is some modern bullshit-'

Suddenly the actor stops. Hux thinks it must be scripted, for a moment, but then sees the other man lock eyes with him from the stage. Does he read minds? Could he hear him from the stage? Fuck. But he will not falter.

'Shut up.'

Both Hux's and Phasma's heads snap to look at the actor, now standing with his arms apart enough to show off broad shoulders and hunched back.

'Well, you're shit,' yells Hux and he can hear the echo resonating around the poorly-isolated room in the dead silence. He doesn't need to look around to know that all eyes are on him.

'/I/ am? While you can only sit and criticise?'

'At least I am not disgracing fucking Shakespeare,' Hux says standing up. His voice is almost ridiculously higher and shallower than the actor's deep baritone, but he is determined.

Somehow the actor's eyes evolve from 'sad puppy' to 'a panther watching its future prey' in a matter of milliseconds. He jumps off the stage, landing right in front of Hux's face. Hux wants to step back, but the chair is preventing him from doing so.

'Say one more word. You know nothing about this whole thing, you ridiculous little man.'

'Don't I.'

'I know what you think. Your friend, girlfriend, whatever, she dragged you here, but you don't care about all this at all. You just want to go home and do whatever the hell it is that boring people like you do.'

'You have no idea how wrong you are,' Hux grits his teeth.

He doesn't know who hits first, but soon his hand is on the man's jaw and his own lips fill with blood. The actor is heavier than Hux presumed and his punch almost makes him fall over the chair behind him. A sharp pain on his temple, hot liquid spilling over his cheek.

'For fucking Shakespeare, you imbecile,' mutters Hux before pushing the man off him and against the stage.

Phasma stands up quickly and grabs Hux's arm before the actor can stand back up. She drags him out by his arm as the audience watches them in silent awe. Someone whistles when Phasma and Hux leave the building.

It is late. There are people not far away, on the busy streets, but the small alleyway is completely empty. Cold air hits Hux's face, pleasant against the heat of his cheeks. There is only one light looming over their heads. Hux's breath comes out quickly and unevenly, a testament of his frustration.

'Your lip is split,' the woman notices dully.

'Yes- whatever.'

'And your ear is fucking bleeding. I'm never taking you to the theatre again. Unless it's a play you've never read.'

Hux flashes her a dim smile.

'We need to buy bandaids. Stay here, I'm not about to be seen with someone who looks as if they started a pub brawl,' she laughs. 'And since it's finished early, we will go eat something.'

He nods and leans against the red brick wall, savouring its coldness and dampness. The muffled noises from around the corner would normally be annoying, but now they calm his mind, thoughts chaotic and barely decipherable. He hears just the steps and whispers of people leaving the building. The play must have been cancelled. But soon even these noises stop, and he is once again left in pleasant quasi-silence, white noise-

'You.'

The deep and husky voice. Hux opens his eyes.

Before him is the actor playing Hamlet-- he seems taller off-stage, a bit taller than Hux even, something he did not notice while trying to rip the man's hair off, broad and strong even with his back hunched. He washed the makeup off his face and changed into black jeans, a loose t-shirt and a black peacoat. His dark eyes seem black with the light behind him, accentuating his mane of hair.

'What?' asks Hux sharply, hands clenching into fists, ready to fight once again.

'What's your name?'

The man's voice is surprisingly gentle.

'Why?'

'I don't like to be punched by men whose names I don't know,' he says seriously, but there's a shadow of a smile on his lips. Or perhaps it's just the light playing tricks on his face.

'Just Hux. Yours?'

'Kylo Ren.'

So that is him. No way that's real, Hux muses, but does not question it.

'Where is that woman you came with?'

'She's... Gone to get something to clean me up. She'll be back soon, I reckon.'

'Oh. Your lip, yeah. Sorry.'

The man brushes his thumb over Hux's bleeding mouth as if it were nothing. Hux looks at him, and if looks could kill... Well, his probably wouldn't kill, maybe just inflict sharp pain, because the man is both too attractive to die and too annoying to die /quickly and painlessly/.

'So, my Hamlet. What's wrong with it? So bad?'

'Yeah,' Hux shoots without thinking. His mind is too occupied with the way the blasted man's thumb lingered on his jaw for just a moment longer than it should.

'Do elaborate. Are you a critic, or something? Because this wouldn't be the first time I had a fight with one.'

'I simply like the play.'

'You don't seem like the type,' Kylo answers, 'But I guess there's more to you than meets the eye?'

God, is he flirting after punching Hux in the face? The impertinence of this man.

'I am an engineer. I read books to annoy my father who thought it a loss of time.'

'So rebellious,' Kylo jokes.

'But if you ask what was wrong, I will tell you. You are juvenile. Puerile. You lack the... The emotional depth to play the character and make the viewer question whether he is mad or- or not, you are just one-dimensionally... Chaotic. You make Hamlet a whiny teenager who should go listen to some My Chemical... Something.'

'Wasn't he? Aren't we all?' asks Kylo and he is both teasing and extremely serious. Hux isn't sure which one he's more. 'I'm serious. It's a young Hamlet. For the modern audience. Because fuck, you know, you say he is a whiny teenager, but young people's emotions are real and there is fucked up things they got through, like Hamlet did, and maybe I am not a scholar but the duality of your life as a conflicted youth with a fucked-up life trying to keep it together and fall apart at the same time, and if you say that you can't relate to these feelings just because my Hamlet is /young/, that's some bullshit, and, that's what I wanted to convey, right?'

He's babbling and stumbling through the sentences, which absolutely should not be adorable, and yet it is. His barely-visible cheeks flush, and there is that wild spark in his eyes again.

'So YOU are an emo teen as well.'

'If you want to say so, whatever. But I'm 29. So. And yeah, I based Hamlet off my life. I hate my... My father. You know, the family drama, the conflict, and sometimes I don't know what's real either and I fucking lied to everyone, and it's like I am not even my own person and- Whatever. I'm not about to tell you my entire life story.'

Hux looks at him and, for some reason, feels bad for the man. Bad, but he understands, as much as he wish he didn’t. He finally dares to look at him. The man's black eyes seem to be looking straight into his mind, but Hux is not the one to avoid challenge.

'And the mask?'

'Mask? It's symbolism. It's either deny your humanity or die. The mask, it symbolises, uh. Hiding away feelings and… Also, I don't like people staring at my face.'

Hux puts his hands up, showing defeat, and barely knows why. All he knows is that he almost brushed his fingers against the man's ridiculous coat.

'Alright. Fine. You're forgiven.'

He wishes he hadn't noticed the sparkle of happiness in the man's eyes at his acceptance. His shoulders drop with ease and he backs off half a step, giving Hux space to breathe.

'At least Horatio wasn't bad. I've always loved the character.'

'What, because you're a nerd?'

'Don't push it, stranger. But yes, because I'm a nerd. Whatever you say. His rationality impresses me.'

'Oh, but his rationality is conflicted by the closeness to Hamlet, is it not?' Kylo asks and Hux swears he is smirking.

'What was the actor's name? He was cute.'

'He is alright. Mitaka. Dopheld Mitaka. I can get you his number if you want.'

'What-? No, God. No.'

'You're not into guys,' the man says, looking half-confused, half-disappointed.

'I am. But two Horatios together would be a bit mad, wouldn't it.'

'Yes,' Kylo breathes and Hux only realises the implication of his words. 'But Hamlet and Horatio-'

'Don't play the gay Shakespearean scholar with me.'

It's more of a tease than an order, as Hux is very aware that Kylo's face is dangerously close to his, that Hux could smear the blood on his mouth over the other man's lips and his hands could travel under the blasted peacoat to land on surprisingly defined chest-

'Hux.' Phasma. Dammit.

She looks very proud of herself, her heels in one hand, bandaids in the other, holding her iPhone (6, the definitely-not-pink one) between her shoulder and ear.

'Yes, yes. Near Leicester- sir, I don't care if you're not coming here on a Friday evening. Make it Alyssa lane then. Alright. Yes. Bye,' she then looks at Hux. 'I got us a cab to the Nepali place-'

She only seems to realise who the other man is.

'Oh. Sorry, have I interrupted you having the shit beaten out of you?'

'Not... Really,' Hux just says as Kylo slowly backs off.

'We were discussing the different interpretations of Hamlet's character.'

Hux finds himself stopping Kylo in his track by placing two hands over his damned peacoat. The other man seems surprised by this.

'What, you want to punch me again? I said something wrong?'

'Shut up.'

Hux yanks the other man forward so that Kylo has to put his hands against the wall behind Hux to prevent himself from falling down.

'Never, Horatio'

Phasma seems to be the one least shocked by this out of the three of them, but Hux brushes his bloodied lip against Kylo's in some odd attempt to claim him as his. The next thing he knows, Kylo's hands travel all over his jacket, patting – not feeling him up. Searching.

'The hell are you looking for?'

'Your phone. My number?' he asks, his voice a mix of suave cockiness and hopeful uncertainty. Hux sighs and takes his phone out of the pocket of his trousers. Kylo is hesitant, yet takes it into his hands, too awkward and too big for his body like almost everything seemed to be. Hux watches him type for a short second.

He looks at his phone as the man gives is back to him. Kylo has put himself in as 'Your sweet prince'. What a disaster.

Ren wipes Hux's blood off his lips with the back of his sleeve and tries to make himself look presentable again, the black eye beginning to form on the left site of his face notwithstanding.

'Anyway, I should be going before someone calls the police or whatever,' he mutters.

'Yeah, true,' Hux says looking at Phasma, who is more than amused with the way things have developed.

'You taking the tube?'

'Uh, no. I am going with Phasma, obviously.'

'Shit. Yes. Right. So, I'll see you guys… whenever.'

He turns around and waves, not looking at Hux, only to disappear behind the nearest corner.

Phasma sighs as she looks at the man beside her.

'You've got a date with a brooding artist type. God, you're predictable.'

Hux rolls his eyes, but she continues:

'You know you no longer have to rebel against your father, right?'

'I want to rebel against the memory of him, Phas. Punch his ghost in the face.'

'Well aren't you cheerful. Do you actually like the guy, or…?'

'I don't know him, really. He could be a serial killer for all I know. He's good-looking enough and… passionate about his damn books, what more do you need.'

'Let's go eat though, I'm starving.'

Hux's stomach growls in agreement.

 

***

 

He wonders if this is worth it, for a while. Sits in his office chair with a finger looming over the 'send' button for minutes.

 

_Weird Hamlet guy. Hi._

 

Your Sweet Prince

_Oh. Hi. Didn;t think youd actually text lol_

 

_Well, I'm sorry if I am an inconvenience._

 

Your Sweet Prince

_No!!! lmao i mean you're so up[tight and stuff and look at me lmao_

 

_Well, uh. You're pretty good-looking. At least in the dark._

 

Your Sweet Prince

_Thank. So you still wanna go out or_

 

_...yeah. But this time try not to punch me in the face over literature, because Phasma isn't coming with me._

 

Your Sweet Prince

_I'l try i'll try.although the next time ill be talking to you abt the plays of Oscar wi;de and their rflection of todays society n shit_

 

_I hate you already. Set up a date? I am not familiar with your schedule. I work your average 9-5 job, I guess, although it's more like 9-10 these days._

 

Your Sweet Prince

_OOOH. It has a price tho._

 

_?_

 

Your Sweet Prince

_Send me a selfie. Proive to me ur as cute as you seemed in that dark fucking alley_

 

_Mean bastard._

 

Hux looks around the room. Nobody is looking at him, most people busy with their computers, some. He extends his hand just enough not to make his nose and chin look huge, then takes the photo, immediately ashamed of his childish behaviour.

 

_[attachment: 1 picutre]_

 

Your Sweet Prince

_Cuteee ginger lmao Ok then. Saturday 5pm?_

 

_Yes, I am free._

 

Your Sweet Prince

 _I'll send you uh the location later. I kinda need to pick something special dammi_ _t_

 

_What._

 

Your Sweet Prince

_shhh im going to bed see ya_

 

_At 4 pm?_

 

Your Sweet Prince

_i've not slept in 52 hours man gimme a break_

 

_Good night sweet prince_

_Or something_

 

Your Sweet Prince

_shut up lol_

 

Your Sweet Prince

_[attachment: 1 picture]_

 

It's a ridiculous selfie of the ridiculous man laying in bed, eyes half-closed and black hair all over the pillow. Hux hasn't noticed it, but his face seemed covered in moles and he was quite definitely wearing eyeliner.

If Phasma saw him smirking to himself as they were leaving the office together, well, there could be many reasons for that.


	2. Selfies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (ok this isn't a real update, just a drawing of them taking these ridiculous selfies)

**Author's Note:**

> (was the whole argument about Hamlet secretly poking fun at people who criticise Kylo Ren's character for the same reasons? Mayhaps.)  
> (EDIT: I've misspelt Hux's name and nobody pointed that out omg I'm sorry. Fixed.)


End file.
